Easy Escape
by g3nesis1
Summary: The deal is off the table, he said. The opportunity is gone. I'm sorry. Please, forgive me, Wilson.. Cuddy... all of you. What is House going to do now? The bottle of Vicadin is right there... It would be all too easy.
1. Don't Hang Up

House let out a breath and pulled his head up. He looked down to the empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. He couldn't believe it went down so smooth and so fast. He hated that bastard cop. All of this just because he stuck a thermometer up his ass? Pfft, he did that all the time.

He couldn't help but laugh at himself… How could this be happening?…To him of all people? He wanted to take the deal. He knew he had to, but now… the opportunity was wasted all because he needed those damn pills.

He looked down to his leg. He had been drinking for hours; so long that he didn't even feel the pain anymore. That's all he ever wanted. Just… not to feel that pain. No one would ever know how it felt to be in constant, never ending, and merciless agony.

Cuddy didn't know, Wilson didn't know… none of them did and deep within his soul, he couldn't help but hate them for it.

He dropped the glass bottle at the side of the couch and forced himself to sit up at least a little bit. The bottle of Vicadin was sitting right there on the table. It could be so damned easy to just take them all and get it over with. He knew that he wouldn't be able to survive a day in a jail cell.

He closed his eyes as they welled up with tears. There was this growing ache in his stomach. He didn't know if it was from all the alcohol or if it was from what he knew was coming. That fucker would drive him crazy placing charge after charge after charge on him. He wouldn't be able to work; he wouldn't be able to live.

He knew now that he wouldn't take the apology. It was way passed that now.

After a few moments, he found himself staring at that orange bottle, full of pills that he had yet to swallow. He hadn't taken one. Not a single god damn pill.

He reached up, but grabbed the phone, dialing Wilson's number. The bland tone of that ring made him twitch a little. What would he say to him? What could he say to him? He was the one that betrayed him -- no…. He thought. I, was the one that betrayed them.

He clenched his teeth as he heard Wilson's voice.

"Hello?" Wilson was so naïve. Did he really think that when he _did _want to take the deal, that they'd let him. "Hello? …House is that yo--"

"Wilson," he interrupted. His voice was weak and coarse. He found that it was hard to say anything to him. He found that it was hard to even speak.

"House, I really don--"

"I…" House cleared his throat, trying to keep himself together. "I can't take the deal."

"House, you need to take the deal. You're killing yourself. We're all worried about you, Cuddy is--"

"No," he swallowed hard. "You don't get it, you dumb ass! He won't let me! I was going to take the deal! I don't want to go to jail, damn it! I told him I'd take it, but he said… He said it was too late." His voice cracked.

Wilson's eyes widened. "What?" He sat down, putting his hand to his forehead. House was going to jail? It was because of him. He knew it, but… He had to. House would have killed himself, right? He kept on telling himself that he did it just for that reason, but…

"I'm sorry," House said, biting his lip to keep himself from breaking.

Wilson breathed. "I… am too."

"No, Wilson…" House closed his eyes, tears rolling down his red cheeks. "I'm sorry for this. I was stupid and stubborn for not listening to you and Cuddy. I'm sorry. I knew I had a problem I just didn't want to admit it. But you don't know how bad the pain is. You could never understand. You'll never understand."

Wilson couldn't believe it. House was actually crying. He knew it was bad now.

"I don't know if I -- I can't take it anymore." He swallowed hard. Thoughts were racing through his head. Thoughts he had before; thoughts he never thought he'd have again.

"Don't talk like that, House. You'll be fine. You're not even sure if you'll have to go to jail. The judge may be lenient. You're one of the good guys, remember?"

"Yeah right, Wilson. I doubt it." House reached out for the pills and held the bottle tightly in his hands. "I'm fucked whichever way you want to put it."

"Stop talking like that, I know you'll--"

"I… Will you please tell Cuddy that I'm sorry… and the rest of them. I don't think I'll ever… see them again." He opened the bottle of pills and dumped one of them out into his hand. He paused for a moment, looking over the smooth surface of the pill he used to carry so much comfort in. It was so small, but it was so big at the same time.

He was so captivated with it. He bit his lip. What would happen if he took all of them? He only took 4 that one night Wilson came in to find him on the floor laying in his own vomit. What if he took… thirty six? He knew what would happen.

Would that be better than going to jail? He closed his eyes and clenched his fist around the pill.

"…Don't talk like that, House. Please, you're worrying me…" House was sure he'd been talking for a while but he just wasn't paying attention.

"Wilson, shut up. You know what's going to happen, and you know what's going to happen if I go to jail. I'll die… Might as well now. When I have the chance to do it on my own."

"Don't, House…" Wilson stood, grabbing his keys and his coat. He'd go over there if he had to. The way he was talking, he needed to get there fast.

"Everyone has to die, Wilson. Some people just choose the fun way… Just… make sure, you tell them I'm sorry. Please?"

Wilson was driving off from his house, towards his. "Don't hang up, House. I'll kill you myself if you do."

"Sorry, Wilson…" He threw the phone to the floor and opened his fist, staring at the vicadin. It would be too easy… Way too easy.

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I might continue this... if I get enough reviews. Or, I just might leave it the way it is. I'm not sure if House would really try suicide or not... even if he WAS drunk. But, yeah... Oh, and... I always forget that cops name, what is it again? o. o I forgotted. Lol. TELL MEH!!! Well please review? PLEASE? ...Thankies :) 


	2. Fade Away

House sighed, still looking at the pill in his hands. He bit his lip and poured the rest into his hands, letting himself dabble in the joy of feeling that soft, smooth surface once again fly over his fingers.

After he threw the phone, he could hear Wilson screaming his name telling him not to do anything; that he would be here soon. That's why he locked the door. He didn't want to see him, no… He didn't want HIM to see him like this. He didn't even remember why he called him.

The tears that once fell were already dried and gone like they had never existed. His eyes were still red and a head ache was coming on.

His lips twitched and that little voice within him kept telling him to place those pills between his lips, let his tongue play with them a bit… and swallow them. All of them. He knew he was crazy, but was he crazy enough to actually kill himself? Would it be easier to die? Would it be easier for the rest of them to live without a bitching, hard-ass bastard on their backs all the time? Would it be easier for Cuddy? For Wilson? For Cameron? For all of them.

He closed his eyes and looked over to the watered down scotch on his coffee table and sighed. Should he, or should he not? He knew Wilson was on his way and he'd probably get here soon.

He reached over for the scotch and let out a breath, letting the pills jump around in his clammy palm. "Oh, what the hell am I doing?" He clenched his hands tighter and tighter. "What… the HELL am I doing?!" He screamed, throwing the glass at the wall. The sound of the shattering sliced the last of his sanity and he stood, dropping some of the pills. He screamed, another mount of tears rushing down his face. He put some pills to his lips and swallowed them through his dry throat. He grabbed the table, flipping it. He kicked the piano, taking out all of his frustrations on something… on anything that was around him.

But it would all end soon. He wanted it to end. He needed it to end! Everything would be better. Everyone would be better off.

His wrists were covered with cut marks, none too deep to really do any damage to the veins. He just couldn't get himself to do it… until now. He just got to the point, where he didn't care anymore. He WANTED to die.

He fell to his knees, everything around him beginning to twist, twirl and spin. He prayed to God that it would end as quickly as possible. He blinked and looked up, hearing the door being kicked in. He smiled for a moment, hearing his own heart beat in his head over all the commotion of the breaking wood and Wilson screaming.

Bum-bump. Bum-bump. He always thought the human heart was such a magnificent beauty, but his was a black travesty.

"HOUSE!" Wilson screamed, kicking in the rest of the door. He could hear him screaming and the breaking glass from outside. Please, God, he thought. Please?

House smiled up to him and fell to the floor, his eyes slowly closing; fading off into a darkness that would swallow his soul.

Wilson dropped everything and rushed up next to him, pulling his head into his lap. "Don't you DARE die on me, you bastard!" Wilson yelled to him, slapping his cheek gently. "Wake up!" He grabbed his cell phone and dialed for 9-1-1. They needed to get here fast… Why would he do this? He knew prison was bad, but… House? Kill himself? That was like saying Cameron wouldn't argue with anything HE said. It just… wouldn't happen. Right?!

He didn't even notice, but tears were making its way down his own cheeks seeing him like this. "Wake up!" He shook him and put his fingers to his pulse. It was weakening with every minute that passed.

"HOUSE!"

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Thanks for the reviews guys. I know this chapter is kind of... short? But it's getting kind of late. o. O Heh... I might write some tomorrow!!! If I have time! Woot woot! Go me! Go me! LOL. 


	3. Place the Blame

All were silent in the briefing room. House? Try to--? No, this had to be a dream. Cameron closed her eyes as a small tear drifted down the side of her fragile cheek. She knew he was bad, but… not this bad. She should have stayed there, she told herself. This was her fault.

Chase looked up and sighed, looking over to Foreman before he stepped towards her. He hesitantly wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer. "It's okay," he whispered in her ear. "He'll be okay…"

"No!" Cameron yelled. "No, he won't be! You didn't see him, I did! I should have stayed there. I should have did something!" Her hair fell into her eyes.

"It's not your fault, Allison…" Foreman stepped up. "We all feel responsible, but," he turned to see Wilson walking in.

His face was pale and full of sorrow. They feared the worse. "He's… in a coma, but…"

Foreman turned away, as did all the rest of them. They never, not in a million years, imagined this would happen. House, yeah, he was a bastard… But a bastard that would kill himself?

Foreman sat down and closed his eyes. I'm sorry, House, he thought to himself. I'm so damn sorry.

Cameron pushed herself away from Chase and walked passed Wilson back towards House's room. She paused in the door way, looking over him. He was hooked to a respirator, his eyes shut, an I.V. attached to his arm. She knew now, that even if he wasn't… gone, they'd lost him. She took a step into the room and sat at his bedside, reaching up to grab one of his hands. She closed her eyes. They lost him, all because of that goddamn cop. She squeezed his hand tightly and looked back up to him. "Greg?" She whispered, her voice shaking. "Please, please wake up? It's.. Allison, please?"

She swallowed down a scream when he didn't move. Not an inch, he didn't even open his eyes. "You've gotta wake up soon. I-… We need you." She wiped the tears from her cheeks. "We all miss you. We want you back."

She looked down and after a few minutes of silence, she stood and crawled into his bed beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist. She held his hand tightly, closing her eyes. "I need you back, House." She could hear his heartbeat. "Because…." She paused. "…I love you." She let out a shaky breath.

Wilson had walked back into Cuddy's office. He knew she'd be upset. He really didn't know what to expect. He opened her door, seeing her sitting at the desk with her hands to her face. He stepped in and closed the door behind him.

"Cuddy?" He asked quietly.

She jumped and looked over to him, mascara rushing down her face. "…James." She stood and ran over towards him.

He took her in with open arms, holding her tightly. "He'll be okay. This is House we're talking about… He'll pull through just like always does."

Cuddy nodded reluctantly. "This… this is my fault."

"No." Wilson said. "It is NOT your fault. Don't blame yourself. Blame Tritter or….. Yeah, blame that damn cop." He closed his eyes. He wanted to yell, to scream at House for doing this but he couldn't. Not now, and not ever.


	4. The Question 'Why'

Wilson lifted his head slowly and opened his eyes. He looked down to see Cuddy's head on his chest. He gave a soft smile and let his fingers dance through her hair. He leaned his head back and gave a sigh. House, he thought to himself. How could you do this? He closed his eyes, seeing that smile on his face when he found him. Did he really want to die?

_Yes._

"Wilson…" He jumped slightly and opened his eyes to see Chase standing before him.

"Oh… Yeah?" He asked quietly. Cuddy was still sleeping. He pulled her from his chest and laid her down on the cot, pulling the blanket up over her. He stood and walked over to Chase. "What is it?" He asked.

"…." He blinked and looked into his eyes. "He's awake."

He stood, dumbfounded. "He…What?" He grabbed his jacket and rushed down to the I.C.U. He paused, seeing Cameron and Foreman just standing there, looking through the glass. His eyes were closed, but… Wilson could tell by his movements that he was awake.

He paused at the door. "…Let me go talk to him." He looked over to Cameron, seeing tears rushing down her cheeks. "See, I told you he was fine." He walked in and sighed.

House's eyes opened slowly. They were a bit dilated, but they always were. He walked up next to the end of the bed and just looked down at him. "…." He put his jacket down and sat in the chair at his bedside.

"Why didn't you just leave me there, Wilson?" His voice was hoarse. It made Wilson want to cover his ears it was so bad. Like nails against a black board. "Why didn't you just leave me there to die?"

"Because you don't… deserve to die." He could barely get the words out.

"But I wanted to!" He looked up into his eyes with burning hatred. More than usual. "You don't get it do you? I'm going to jail. JAIL."

"It's your own damned fault!" Wilson stood and yelled. He gave a shaky breath. "….Why, Greg? Why didn't… you… Why did you?"

House closed his eyes. "Get the fuck out." He ordered. He didn't feel like explaining, he didn't feel like talking… especially to him. His eyes tightened shut. He hated living; he hated living with the constant pain and the knowledge of not being able to do a DAMNED thing about it. He hated living knowing that he would soon go to jail and be someone called Bubba's bitch. He didn't want that.

Wilson just stared at him for a minute before grabbing his coat and walking out. He looked to the three of them with a sigh. "….He's fine but I wouldn't go in there right now. He's being a bastard." Cameron's eyes widened. How could he say something like that?

Wilson pulled his coat around his shoulders and stuck his hands into the pockets. He looked back up towards them and turned away after a minute or so. He had never felt so angry; so disappointed and so damned useless in all of his life. There he was, House.. A person whom he thought was one of his friends, in pain. Not only in physical pain either, and he couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't ease his pain, he couldn't take it away, he could cover it with morphine, he couldn't… He closed his eyes and walked out of the hospital. He needed to get away.


End file.
